The Curse of Eternity

Death Nineteen

Desolation

When the door closes, breath escapes from between my teeth with a hiss. I let the fruit drop. It lands on my uneaten porridge with a soft plop.

"Why great Dyis Ira have you let me fall into such a position? What had I done? I would willingly give my sight to replay the last candle's events," I silently groan into my hands.

My head rests in my hands for several breaths, then I sit up and rescue the abandoned strawberry from its lake of porridge and take a bite. The tangy sweetness of the fruit combined with the plain oats complement each other.

Since the Immortal Lord has now vacated the premises, my stomach wrings like a wash rag. In response, I grab another strawberry and dip it in the warm gruel.

It needs honey but I eat it due to hunger. Mupu and I have struggled numerous times to put food on the table, especially during winter when fruits and vegetables are scarce and all to be had is salted meats. Bland porridge is infinitely better, even more so with sweet fruit.

After several long flickers, I inhale my breakfast like a being who has not eaten in nights. While I am shoving an overlarge berry into my mouth, the door parallel to me opens, and two maids walkthrough.

It seems all the servants come in pairs, with the exception of Gregorie and Mistress Byerne who always arrive without a companion. I chew rapidly, enjoying the freedom of being able to study the features of those around me without the fear of sending them to a heinous death.

After gazing into the Immortal Lord's eyes without feeling the pull of death, my eyes want to capture everything and burn it into my memory.

Out of habit more than fear, my eyes drop to their feet which are encased in black, serviceable leather shoes that peak from beneath ankle-length, somber gray skirts. My eyes travel the length of their legs, up their torsos which are clothed in the same gray. Their left hand is resting atop the right with the right palm resting against their midriff.

"We saw that," a sing-song voice intones.

I recognize Ceres's voice.

I look towards the sound and see the shortest maid waggle her finger back and forth as if admonishing me for doing a naughty deed.

"We say that," she says again.

Her hair is bright like Moki bird or the ripest rind of an orange and tumbles to her shoulders in large, soft curls. Almond-shaped, grass-green eyes are lined in kohl and framed with long, darkened lashes.

"Do it again, do it again," she cries, curling her fingers into a fist and pumping them into the air.

"You want her to shove another strawberry into her mouth?" a bored voice intones.

It's Myorla's prominent monotone. She is tall, about my six-hand height, and willowy with forest green hair cut in jagged layers about her ears. She possesses a pair of intense golden eyes which capture every detail.

"Why not? It was quite funny."

I chew the fruit using it as an excuse to not respond. I am too self-conscious to take another bite.

Sensing my remonstration Myorla says, "Don't let Ceres bother you. Please finish your meal if you are still hungry."

I cannot force my body to eat but I didn't want to seem rude. I grab the glass of orange juice and drink like it is the only object tying me to this world. Oranges are my favorite fruit and orange juice is no exception. It was on rare occasions we were able to afford enough oranges to squeeze into juice and thus, juice is a treat and to be savored. All too soon the glass is empty and I sadly place it back on the table.

"There is a pitcher further on the table if you want more," Myorla says. Those golden eyes miss nothing. She walks toward the pitcher but I stop her with a raised hand. I am uncomfortable with being served, especially when it's actions I can perform myself.

The orange juice sits next to the Immortal Lord's unfinished plate. I stand, relishing in the liberty of movement my clothing allows and the way my dress sways around my ankles. I grab the pitcher and walk back to my seat.

"Did you see that Myorla?"

"Yes, I did," she responds.

"W-What?" I ask, thinking I have executed some sort of taboo.

"Nothing serious. Now that your body is not encumbered in shapeless cloth we can see your gracefulness," Myorla says.

"You remind us of the water dancers," Ceres adds.

My eyebrows raise and my eyes widen in surprise. I have seen water dancers on several occasions. A troupe would travel through our village every spring and I spent most of my free time gazing in admiration. Despite the name water dancers, water is not involved. The name is derived from the smooth fluid motions the dancers illustrate with their bodies.

Out of habit, I lift my arms and move my hips in the figure-eight motions I had seen the dancers do. In unison, Myorla and Ceres clap their hands once and join me, expertly moving their bodies to an invisible tune.

We continue dancing for several flickers, I raise my hands and press my fingertips to my forehead, close my eyes and dip backward as the dancers do. I spent much time in the seclusion of the forest perfecting the move. It is so graceful and it takes a considerable amount of strength to bend backward without falling over.

"Maybe we should find you a water dancer to teach you. What do you think Lord Jerrath?"

In my inverted position, my eyes snap open and rest upon the upside-down form of the Immortal Lord leaning against the door frame. His amused expression reveals he's been standing and watching for decent flickers. I slowly ascend bringing my arms up and straightening my spine, I turn to face him. My face burns as bright as the reds in his hair.

"Graceful movements, great form and a substantial amount of strength. I will find you a water dancer."

"M-M-My L-Lord J-Jerrath, th-th-there is n-no n-n-need," I stutter in uneasiness.

"Desolation it's just L. . ."

"She may call me as she wishes," the Immortal Lord interrupts.

He turns to face me and asks, "Why not?"

"Yes, why not?" Ceres asks, "It is obvious you have a talent for dancing. Water dancers spend years perfecting the move you demonstrated."

"My Lord if I may suggest, if you find her a water dancer, then you must ask the Battle Priestesses of Mherrideth. She exuded power in those movements, I am confident you felt them as well. Many of the priestesses do not fight and merely dance but if you can find one who can, that would be the best," Myorla drones.

"I will ask my contact in Mherrideth as well as contact the sisters but it will take time. In the meantime, I want you to educate her to the best of your ability; which brings me to the reason I have returned. I want her first lesson to be on house Dal-Raseay."

At his words, both Ceres and Myorla groan into their hands. There it is again Dal-Raseay, whomever these people are, their visits are a regular occurrence and not looked upon fondly.

"Everyone gets one long groan, be sure to spread the word. I will be busy the rest of this night making preparations. I will see you tomorrow night." He walks out the way he came and doesn't bother to close the door.

"Wh-Who is Dal-Raseay?" I ask.

Once again they both groan.